Sigh. The fourth of July. Such warm memories. Kind of. I mean, it usually rained a bit and we had our BBQ inside or under the patio's roof. And I spent the majority of the day cooking and cleaning. But it was good. And I'll tell you why. I had a very drunk and very crazy "neighbor" guy. Our next door neighbor was Keith's ex-wife. Yet, Keith spent all day every day over there. His old cars he was working on were still in the driveway, the garage was still filled with his tools and other stuff. His ex-wife still supported him from what I could tell. He just wandered around with his shirt off and his tan beer belly hanging out (which was decorated with scars from his heart surgeries). But Keith was my favorite neighbor. He'd tote me around like I was some kind of precious prize. He'd come over and kidnap me or temp me out with his Chocolate Charleston Chews, "Psst! Emmaloo! I've got some Charleston Chews here for ya! Think you can get away? Put your swimsuit on and see if you can get away from that mother of yours for some fireworks and a diving lesson!" Then he'd let me take my pick of his huge stash of fireworks. Each year he'd go to several Indian Reservations and spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on the best of the illegal fireworks. For weeks before the holiday, he'd set them off. Before I was in kindergarten, he taught me the art of lighting a firecracker bigger than I was without losing a hand. I felt like the Karate Kid with Mr. Miagi. Learning from a master... who was drunk. I loved spending time with my Keith. He'd keep me pumped with Charleston Chews and would try to bribe me to blow up our neighbors' mailboxes with cherry bombs. We'd laugh together at the loud cracks and bright sparks and as we accidentally set something on fire. Then, on the night of the 4th, Keith would put on the neighborhood fireworks show. And it was GREAT! The show would go on for an hour or two with the fireworks getting bigger and bigger (and more and more illegal). Everybody loved Keith and the other neighborhood kids who made fun of me all year would watch with envy as Keith let me set of the biggest fireworks. That was my tradition for about my first sixteen years.

Around that time, Keith's drinking had gotten worse and he got a bit more sloppy with his firework skills. One year he bought this huge rolled-up firework from an Indian Reservation. He was supposed to roll it out and light one end and it would make loud pops as the fire went down the line. But Keith was too drunk to figure out how to unroll it. So he just set it in the street and set it on fire. It sounded as if a bomb went off and red confetti of fire sprayed everywhere. Our tree, which was on that corner caught fire. The neighbors ran frantically to get hoses to put the fire out. Keith layed down in the street and laughed at the falling pieces. "Did you see that Emmaloo?" "Ya, could have taken out quite a few mailboxes with that one." "Hehehe... ya..." That was the last time we had the fireworks show.

So time for new tradition. Today I slept in as much as I could with the parade outside my window. In a minute I'll start cleaning my room and straightening the apartment. Around 5pm Lisa will be back and then I'll follow Kat, Lisa and Liz to wherever they want to go. I'll leave the firework lighting to the professionals and sit back with some friends. Life is good. But I do miss Keith, his Charleston Chews and his endless supply of illegal fireworks.